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What Bobby could never understand was how the lightning could keep him on the hook, and yet didn’t seem to do the same with the Buckleys.
Bobby’s hands had calluses from how firmly they had held and played with the rosary, his back had bent under the pain of an injury from years before for how many times he had gone to the hospital chapel to kneel for a prayer. He had almost forgotten how to put words together to form sentences that weren't questions about Buck’s condition and drawn-out information about his health. He had taken his first, real breath with Buck’s when they removed the tube, and yet…
And yet the kid’s parents had decided to leave anyway, only a week after their son's discharge.
“And thank you Captain, for taking care of our son.”
Our son, Phillip had said; as if the kid had ever been theirs.
Bobby can't seem to move on after Buck's coma. They have a late-night talk about nothing at all and the kid might, or might have not, called him "Pops" once more.
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